My body went rigid. I’d given up on him sharing by now, but who was I to censor self-expression? “Go on,” I said. Not wanting to sound bossy, I added, “Or not.”

“He’s a functioning alcoholic. Except when he’s not functioning, which is much of the time.” He gripped the steering wheel. “The first time you and I had drinks in my room, it was my sister calling. My dad, who she stopped talking to a decade ago, called her crying about our mom. The night of the storm, it was his coworker. My father fell asleep on the job—he works the reference desk at the Middletown Township Public Library—and she put him in a cab home before his boss found out.” He turned my way for a beat. “Someone’s always coming to his rescue. Usually it’s me.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless.

He glanced through the rearview mirror. “Most of the time, though, it’s him calling—rambling about something or needing my help. Tonight he was lonely and wanted to talk. It’s hard to say no.”

“Wow. Finn. I had no idea.” It was a side of his world I’d never even fathomed.

“He’s been like this since my mom died. He held it together, barely, for us, but just never fully recovered. My sister married right out of high school just to get away. Her husband’s an arrogant prick, but he takes care of her financially, which is the only thing she cares about. She’s afraid to stand up for herself, much less leave him and risk being out on the street again. My escape hatch was college and a career—I applied for scholarships and took out loans—I pledged to make it my literal business to help others. But my dad…he needs me. Our relationship is pretty one-sided: all him, all the time. I don’t volunteer anything about myself, and he doesn’t ask.”

“Who do you talk to then…about your own stuff?” I had Mom and Kate. Who was Finn’s person?

“No one. It’s easier that way. I don’t want to be a burden.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. My heart twisted at his pain. I stared at him while I struggled for the right words to express empathy without crossing over into pity. He didn’t want my pity.

“Compared to us, your family belongs in one of your favorite movies.” Traffic had slowed, and he stared at me before breaking eye contact and returning his eyes to the road.

I bit back the instinct to protest. My family life wasn’t rainbows and unicorns all the time, but it was damn close compared to Finn’s. I’d never been so aware of my privilege and plain good luck as I was in this moment.